


A Kind of Magic

by Nadare



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley is Good With Kids (Good Omens), Established Relationship, F/M, Flirting, Halloween, Halloween Costumes, Humor, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, One Shot, Party, Post-Canon, Queen (Band) References, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2021-01-13 16:42:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21177137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nadare/pseuds/Nadare
Summary: "Who will you go as?”“Freddie, I think. If that's all right with you,” Crowley replied, standing up. He sidled closer to Aziraphale.Aziraphale inclined his head in approval. “You are the obvious choice.” Crowley knew he could be downright bombastic if he had to be.“Please be my Jim,” Crowley said, reaching out and taking Aziraphale's hands in his own. “No one else will do.”





	A Kind of Magic

_ A/N: Because I just couldn’t resist. _

[Written on and off from 10-24-19 to 10-30-19] 

\-------------------- 

** _ “A Kind of Magic” _ **

Aziraphale walked towards the shop entrance where the morning’s post hung from the slot. He grabbed the various colored envelopes and walked back to where Crowley was nursing a cup of coffee. 

“Oh, this is interesting,” Aziraphale said upon opening one of the letters. 

Crowley raised a brow. “What is?” 

“Ms. Device and Mr. Pulsifer are throwing a Halloween party and have kindly extended us an invitation.” 

“You’d think they would have had enough of the supernatural to last them a lifetime,” Crowley said, impressed with the couple’s resilience. 

Aziraphale smiled softly. “That’s the thing I like about humans. They always adapt and overcome.” 

Crowley had to agree. “Not unlike us.” 

“Indeed.” Aziraphale put his head to the side. “May I mark us as attending then?” 

“Sure, could be fun.” A spark of an idea hit Crowley and he chuckled. “I have the perfect costume idea.” 

“What?” 

“Freddie Mercury and Jim Hutton.” 

“I know those names,” Aziraphale muttered to himself, Crowley waiting for him to make the connection. Pop culture wasn’t the angel’s strong suit. 

He abruptly snapped his fingers, looking at Crowley in triumph. “Queen, right?” Then his brow furrowed. “I thought you didn't like Queen,” Aziraphale said before sitting down and taking a sip of his tea. 

Crowley shot Aziraphale a dirty look. “Of course I do.” 

“But all those years of the Bentley turning your cassettes into the Best Of album…” 

“I still listened to them. You'd have to be crazy to hate the band,” Crowley replied hotly. “Besides they're all the rage now with that biopic film that came out a while back.” 

“They made a moving picture about them?” Crowley rolled his eyes at the old-fashioned terminology, making a mental note to drag Aziraphale to the theater the next chance he got. IMAX would probably blow his mind. 

That was the problem with dating what amounted to a foodie bookworm. Such interests kept them in restaurants or at their respective homes, Aziraphale stuck in his routine most of the time. 

“Oh, yeah. Bit of a hit it was. Rami Malek was amazing.” It hadn’t been a perfect film, but the intentions behind those involved had been good. 

Aziraphale nodded. “Okay, you've convinced me. Who will you go as?” 

“Freddie, I think. If that's all right with you,” Crowley replied, standing up. He sidled closer to Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale inclined his head in approval. “You are the obvious choice.” Crowley knew he could be downright bombastic if he had to be. 

“Please be my Jim,” Crowley said, reaching out and taking Aziraphale's hands in his own. “No one else will do.” 

Crowley pushed forward, giving Aziraphale a soft lingering kiss. When he leaned back, his companion was smiling. “Of course I will.” 

“Brilliant,” Crowley replied, nearly bursting with glee. 

* * *

** Halloween ** ** , Early Evening… **

“Isn't this cheating?” Aziraphale questioned a few weeks later. 

“No, it's not,” Crowley countered. “Think of the authenticity. Better to do it right or not at all.” 

“If you’re sure,” Aziraphale said, leaning closer to Crowley’s phone. “Show me the pictures again.” 

He scrolled through more than a dozen photos of Freddie Mercury and Jim Hutton, then closed his eyes. As Crowley watched, his white hair and blue eyes shifted into a dark brown colour, everything else remaining the same. 

They’d both agreed a full body transformation would have been disrespectful. At least with only the hair and eyes, the general public would assume it was just hair dye and tinted contacts. 

When it was Crowley’s turn, he simply adjusted the image he presented to the world, adopting darker features, that of black hair and brown eyes. His usual clothes faded into so much smoke, a white tank and jeans completing the overall picture. He did keep his black pea coat, simply because it had become as much as part of him as his other features. 

Aziraphale inspected the new look with a small, “Oh.” 

Crowley glanced down at himself. “What? I get something wrong?” 

“Nothing like that,” Aziraphale reassured him. “I’m just not used to seeing your face look so human.” 

Crowley finally got it. “Oh, right, the eyes.” Out in the general public, if he wasn’t wearing sunglasses, he had to hide them magically. 

“One thing I don’t like is the lip caterpillar,” muttered Aziraphale under his breath, Crowley looking at him curiously. “It’s like the 70s all over again.” 

Crowley snapped up the collar of his jacket. “Oh, come on. You can’t deny I rocked the 70s,” he replied defensively. “Even inspired some of the fashions.” 

Aziraphale shook his head. “For the worse, it seemed.” He walked towards the mirror in the corner, eyeing himself, Crowley coming to stand beside him. “What does one wear for something like this?” 

“Leave it to me,” Crowley said, touching Aziraphale’s shoulder. Like magic, his white clothes were replaced with a brightly patterned polo shirt and acid-washed jeans, a denim jacket on his upper body. “Perfect, yeah?” 

“Absolutely.” 

* * *

Crowley could feel Aziraphale’s eyes upon him in the driver’s seat, studying his profile. He was about to ask what was on his mind when his companion finally spoke up. 

“I’m glad this charade is only for tonight.” 

“Why?” Crowley asked, glancing at him from the driver’s seat. 

There was just the slightest pause, then, “Because I love you just the way you are, snake eyes and all.” 

The car dipped to the right for a second, Crowley quickly setting it right again. Colour bloomed on his cheeks as his fingers tightened on the wheel. “Angel, you can’t do that. Not when I’m driving.” 

“Do what?” 

“Be so bloody adorable when I can't lay hands on you. It's unfair.” 

Aziraphale ducked his head, suddenly bashful. “My apologies.” 

“No, it’s fine,” Crowley said with a grin. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” 

* * *

The Halloween party seemed to be in full swing in the cottage as Crowley parked the car a little way down the lane. Upon getting out of it and gradually approaching the front door, he noticed fake spider webs had been applied to the exterior windows, fuzzy black spiders in various threatening poses. 

Orange and black lights littered the trim and windows of the cottage. Haphazard splashes of a dark red substance were laid out around the walkway around fake tombstones, skeletal hands and legs poking out from the dirt of the makeshift graves. 

Simplistically carved pumpkins lit from within sat on each side of the front door, crooked eyes and mouths full of blunt teeth issuing a silent welcome. 

“If there’s anything waiting to spring out on us up there, we’re leaving,” Crowley threatened before taking one step onto the porch. 

Aziraphale shook his head. “Oh, pish, we’ll do nothing of the kind.” He clasped Crowley’s hand. “We’re here to have fun if you’ll recall. I assume that requires what one would call spooks?” 

Crowley rolled his eyes even as he squeezed Aziraphale’s hand. “I suppose.” He reluctantly let go of it so he could ring the doorbell, preparing himself for all manner of holiday lameness. 

The front door opened to reveal Newton in a full-on Puritan outfit, down to the white ruffled neck and sleeves and gold buckle shoes. “Oh, it’s you two. Glad you could make it.” 

Thinking the costume was in poor taste, Crowley stepped past him and instantly changed his mind. Dressed like a hackneyed witch, the black dress form-fitting, with a pointed hat on her head was Anathema. Her face and neck, as well as her hands, were covered in green paint. 

Just like him and Aziraphale, the pair were a matched set. Witch-finder and witch. One could not exist without the other. 

“Love the costumes,” Crowley said as he examined the inside of the cottage. It was if a Halloween fairy had come and decorated, which wasn’t far from the truth. 

Black and orange streamers lined the walls, a fog machine pumping away in one of the corners, covering part of the main room in a wavering fog that slowly cascaded in the air, eventually vanishing altogether. 

Ceramic skulls adorned the front of a hollowed-out pumpkin filled with a red punch on a table set up against the far wall. Ghastly-looking food offerings sat around the punch bowl. Small individual chocolate ghost cakes topped with white frosting and black eyes, what looked to be some kind of cheesecake had been cast in the shape of a brain, what Crowley assumed was red berry sauce adorning the bodily organ’s creases, and large caramel apples on a silver tray that was in the figure of a black cat in a state of fright. 

Traditional holiday music bombarded the air, Michael Jackson crooning about the monsters that filled the night. If only he’d known how right he was. 

“You realise you’re perpetuating the stereotype that witches are ugly?” Pepper, who was dressed in a tan jumpsuit, said as Anathema passed her to greet Crowley and Aziraphale. 

Anathema held up a hand, then turned back to Pepper with a pleasant expression. She motioned Newton over from across the room. “Do I look ugly to you, Newton?” 

“No, dear,” came his fast reply, putting his arm around Anathema’s waist. 

“That’s the right answer,” Anathema replied before pressing a kiss to Newton’s cheek, leaving behind a smudge of red lipstick. She glanced at Pepper again. “It’s all in good fun.” 

“If you say so,” Pepper said, remaining unconvinced as she rejoined her group of friends. 

Anathema pulled away from Newton and approached them, looking surprised yet pleased Crowley and Aziraphale had dressed up. “I adore your costumes. Freddie Mercury would be happy to see his likeness worn so well.” 

“Who's Freddie Mercury?” Adam asked, poking his head out from behind Anathema. 

Crowley stared at him in disbelief, then shook his head sadly. “I pity the youth today.” 

Pushing the overly dramatic Crowley aside, Aziraphale briefly leaning down towards Adam. “He was a very good singer that the world lost entirely too soon.” 

“No argument there,” Anathema said quietly, Adam’s brow furrowing in thought as he processed the new information. 

“Life can be very unfair, can’t it?” 

Aziraphale straightened, smiling gently. “It has its perks though,” he said, his eyes resting on Crowley for a moment. 

They proceeded further into the cottage, Crowley wandering to the punch bowl while Aziraphale chatted with Anathema and Newton. 

“Why the penchant for All Souls Day, Anathema?” Aziraphale asked casually as Crowley filled a cup, then took a sip. Considering there were children present, the lack of alcohol wasn’t surprising. He didn’t expect the carbonated fruity blend to taste good, but it was, Crowley finishing half of the drink in one go. 

He turned in time to see Anathema put her head to the side, her gaze scanning the myriad of decorations on display. “Halloween was the only time I could say I was a witch and people believed me.” 

She pressed closer to Newton. “He let me celebrate my love of Halloween so long as he can indulge fully when November 5th rolls around.” 

Anathema lowered her voice a tad. “Between you and me, the way he’s going on about it, you’d think he was a pyromaniac.” 

Crowley lost the thread of conversation as Adam and his brood began to surround him, all of them dressed in tan jumpsuits, complicated machinery strapped on their shoulders or backs. Dog was dressed in a bulky green felt costume, bulging yellow eyes covering most of his small head. 

The overall theme was clear to Crowley now. The Ghostbusters and Slimer. Considering they’d assisted in saving the world from the apocalypse, it was an oddly apt costume choice, perhaps done on purpose. 

“Mr. Crowley?” He put down his cup on the table and looked over at the group of young children around him. Adam and his friends. 

“What?” 

“We were just wondering…” Brian started, Pepper pushing him aside impatiently. 

“Why don’t you look like a demon?” she asked brazenly, raking her gaze over Crowley like one would a new outfit they were considering adding to their wardrobe. “No red skin, no claws. Not even a tail.” 

Crowley hissed, giving them a glimpse of his true eyes for a moment, the small group taking a collective step backward. He smiled, inwardly pleased he’d spooked them. 

“I've got a rather long tail in snake form,” he admitted, whatever uneasiness the children felt turned aside in their absolute interest in the new exciting fact. 

They stepped closer to him, their eyes shining in excitement. “You can _ shapeshift _?” 

“Let us see!” 

“_Please_.” 

Torn between wanting to keep some mystery about himself and show off what he considered a god-like form, Crowley decided to split the difference. “Right, I’m only going to do this once.” 

They watched him in anticipation as Crowley moved his jaw back and forth a little in preparation, his head flattening in places while black scales appeared on the skin on his neck and face. 

Crowley opened his mouth wide. And wider until he’d extended it to the level of his bellybutton before allowing it to return to its former position, his human features slow to return. 

He’d expected to see fear or at least some sort of hesitation on the faces around him once he’d finished, but instead the group erupted into cheers and applause. “Do it again!” 

“Do you eat live animals?” 

“What about a forked tongue?” 

_Well, _Crowley thought, it was a holiday. Why not once more? 

* * *

“This is rubbish,” Crowley said a few hours later, his tone deriding but there was definitely a smile pulling at his lips as he surveyed his surroundings. 

“You don’t mean that,” Aziraphale accused gingerly. “You’re tapping your toes to the music, drinking much of their fine punch, and loving each time those kids come up to ask you questions about demons.” 

Crowley smirked, not at all upset at being found out. “They do come up with some zingers.” 

“You’ve fans for life now.” 

“Can’t fault their good taste,” Crowley said, shrugging. “I only gave in to their demands because Halloween is supposed to be scary, isn’t it?” 

“Yes, it is.” Despite Aziraphale’s agreement, Crowley had the distinct feeling Aziraphale didn’t find him frightening at all. 

* * *

The ride back to London was quiet, a comfortable silence between Aziraphale and Crowley. Rowdy as the party had gotten at times, it had indeed been a memorable evening. 

Crowley petted his moustache affectionately as they finally approached Soho. “I might keep it.” 

Aziraphale stared at him, saying nothing for a minute. “Very well, my dear.” 

It was when they were stepping out of the Bentley that Crowley stopped, aware something in reality had changed, as Aziraphale quickly booked it into the bookshop. 

He took a few steps on the pavement towards the front door, then realised his upper lip was clean-shaven once again. “Did you just…_miracle_ my moustache away?” he asked, his voice high in disbelief, noting that Aziraphale had also reset the rest of his appearance. 

Aziraphale smiled innocently at Crowley through the open door, looking prim and proper once again in his usual clothes. “That would constitute such a waste of celestial power.” 

Crowley started moving again and stepped over the threshold, his gaze locked on Aziraphale. “And yet it remains missing somehow.” 

“What a mystery,” Aziraphale replied steadily, sighing when Crowley crossed his arms and began pouting. “Your loss does make certain things much easier.” 

“Like?” 

Aziraphale pulled at Crowley's collar with one hand, laying his other on Crowley’s neck as he touched his mouth to Crowley's. It was a slow exploration, the body against his soft and warm, gently prodding nerve after nerve awake. 

When Aziraphale lightly nipped Crowley’s upper lip, a jolt ran down his spine, his heart starting to race in earnest. He jerked back from Aziraphale, his breath unsteady, Aziraphale in much the same condition, heat and mischief in his eyes. 

It never failed. Kissing Aziraphale always left Crowley in bits in the best way possible. 

“That,” Aziraphale breathed out, licking his lips. 

Crowley shook himself out of the daze, clearing his throat. “Yeah, fair point.” 

“Would you like to see what else one can do with a clean-shaven face?” 

Crowley knew the wanton look on his face said it all. “Yes, please.” 

He didn’t complain about his lost mustache for the rest of the night.


End file.
